


Shapes, Words, Hearts

by Edge_of_Clairvoyance



Series: The Older Brother Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Case Fic, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Family, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Spanking, POV Original Character, Pre-Series, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Punishment, Spanking, Teen Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance
Summary: "Dean!" The kid slowed a little at Dad's shout and glanced over his shoulder."I saw it going into the woods!" Dean called. "I'm on its ass!""Stop right there!" Dad barked. Dean didn't stop."I can get it, Dad!" He was almost at the woods, while Dad and Connor had hardly covered half the distance."No! You stop andwait!" Dean's head turned just a little bit as if to better catch the words and he seemed to hesitate – but only for a second. Then he darted in between the trees.





	1. After Today

**Author's Note:**

> I strongly recommend you read [Beneath Your Wings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178313) before reading this story, as it will introduce you to this AU.
> 
>  **Warnings:** a harsh parental spanking of a teen - don't like? Please leave now. Also, three Winchester men equal threefold language.
> 
> My awesome betas, [alexofthegarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexofthegarden/pseuds/alexofthegarden), [CrazedPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazedPanda) and [ToscaRossetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToscaRossetti/pseuds/ToscaRossetti) made me work my butt off editing this story, and it was so worth it. If you like it, don't forget to hop over to their pages and thank them personally!

There were two shapeshifters. Fucking _two_ of them.

Not that they had any way of knowing, really. They managed to find the first one – it was actually funny how after all the hard leg work Dad and Connor had been doing, they ended up accidentally stumbling upon it when they went to hustle some pool in a local dive bar.

Not that the leg work was redundant. It was what led them to thinking there was a shifter involved in the first place and pointed them at the little house just outside of town where the creature had taken residence. They intended to scan the place for any clues in case there were other victims yet unknown, even though they didn't expect to find anyone still alive.

They took Dean with them when they went to search the house the day after ganking the shifter. They weren't anticipating trouble that would require backup, not with the shifter already salted and burned, but Dean needed to practice the more mundane aspects of hunting. He liked shooting and tracking and sparring and anything that had a hint of promise for action and violence, but he was yet to come to terms with hunting having more to it than that. At only three months shy of sixteen he had time to figure it out, hopefully _before_ he leaped head-first into the next nest of vamps.

Dad parked the Impala on the dirt plot in front of the house and they sat there for a minute, watching. Nothing seemed to be moving, the only sounds the rustle of a light breeze through the bushes and trees and the chirping of birds that filled the mid-morning air. The house in front of them was old but not run-down, with a wide front porch and a lame attempt at a herb garden in the form of three flower beds just by the steps.

Connor and Dean followed Dad's lead when he climbed out of the car and drew his handgun. He advanced a few steps, then halted, gun at the ready, and listened. Connor glanced over at Dean to see the kid looking intently between Dad and the house, his stance mimicking that of the old man.

Dad turned to Connor, lifted his hand, index finger pointing up, and signaled a circle. Connor nodded, and moved as quietly as he could around the house. He peeked through the windows that didn't have the shades drawn but could see nothing alarming inside; just a bunch of dusty rooms with battered furniture. There was a sloping cellar door at the back of the house, it didn't have a padlock on it, and Connor briefly considered trying to open it. But this wasn't Dad's order, and besides, it might make too much noise and alert someone. Or some _thing_.

He came around to the front and shook his head at Dad, who nodded and climbed the front steps, Dean at his heels. Connor took another look around, moving backwards up the steps, but all was still clear and quiet.

Dad tried the doorknob, then stepped back. "Pick it," he told Dean.

"Yes, sir," Dean shoved his gun into the waistband of his jeans, retrieved the lockpick kit from his pocket and went to work. A moment later the lock clicked, and Dean looked up at Dad, who gave him a nod. Dean grinned, stood up from his crouch and swapped the kit for the gun.

They snuck into the house with their guns drawn – Dad in the lead, Dean second, and Connor bringing up the rear – stopping in the small foyer to listen to the silence before advancing into the living room. Dean and Connor spread to flank Dad, the barrels of their guns pointing every which way.

The house was somewhat gloomy, the light filtering through shades, curtains and through less-than-clean windows. There were very few decorations, some generic scenery pictures on the walls and a vase of half-wilted flowers on the coffee table. No family photographs, nothing that looked personal. A fine coat of dust covered most of the surfaces.

They scanned the other rooms and then came into the kitchen. Dishes piled in the sink and stains spotted the stove and the linoleum. Connor glanced at the back door; it had a safety latch on it, bolted shut. A bowl rested on the table, next to a box of cereal and a carton of milk. Dad looked at the carton and frowned, and Connor followed his gaze. The carton wore a sheer layer of condensation. Dad switched the gun to one hand so he could reach to touch the carton, then resumed his grip on the weapon.

"Still chilly," he muttered, and Connor could feel his heart beating a little faster. Whoever was here hadn't run outside, that much was clear. He looked around and spotted the door at the far end of the kitchen.

"Basement," he whispered. Dad moved to it while Connor came to cover him, pushing Dean back. The kid was practically bouncing with excitement, and Connor gave him the glare that meant 'stay the hell back'. Dean got the message, or at least so Connor hoped.

The door creaked just the tiniest bit as Dad pushed it open. They froze to hear if something might react to the noise, but there was nothing. Dad resumed his movement and opened the door all the way, then glanced at Connor and raised his gun.

The cellar was almost completely dark. They could see the top of the stairs with the light that came from the kitchen, but beyond that the space beneath them was encased in deep shadow. If this place had any windows, they must have been boarded over or so filthy no light came through. Dad reached for his flashlight, moving down the stairs until the light from the kitchen stopped and there was nothing but darkness. They listened for a few seconds but heard nothing, and Dad clicked on the flashlight.

The beam swam through the dusty, still air, revealing heaps of crates, boxes, broken pieces of furniture and old household items. They would have to weave their way between the piles so they could search the basement, and Connor was already feeling for his own flashlight when there was a squeak and Dad's light halted as both of them stopped in their tracks.

They didn't have to wait long; there were more rustling sounds, and Connor thought he could see the shadows move up ahead. Dad swiped the beam in that direction while moving forward. There was no reason to keep quiet now; whatever was down here already knew they were coming for it.

They advanced toward the noises, and Connor added his own light to Dad's. He moved it a little to the side to cover more ground, and two shining dots shimmered in the light.

"Shifter!" He breathed out. Fuck, there was _a second_ one. Dad turned and fired at the same time as Connor, but the eyes were already gone. Dad and he couldn't exactly run, not with all the jumble of stuff that filled the floor, but they were moving as fast as they could. Over the noise they were making, Connor could pick up the faint sounds of the shapeshifter as it weaseled between the piles.

And then Connor remembered the outside cellar door.

He flung the light around looking for it and called out as the beam reflected off the shifter's eyes. The creature was just turning its head to glance back at them before reaching and pulling at a tall mound of cases that came crashing down behind it. Then Connor's eyes shut on their own and his head turned away from the bright sunlight flooding the basement.

Dad came to faster than him, already running to the door. Connor made himself suffer the light and followed, but the junk and the boxes the shifter had knocked over blocked the path to the stairs.

Dad cursed as he kicked his way through the heaps, and Connor barely kept up as some of the items Dad sent flying almost ended up hitting his legs. They made it to the door at last and busted out into the open air, just in time to see Dean racing over the stretch of land at the back of the house toward the woods that started only about a hundred yards away.

"Dean!" The kid slowed a little at Dad's shout and glanced over his shoulder.

"I saw it going into the woods!" Dean called. "I'm on its ass!"

"Stop right there!" Dad barked. Dean didn't stop.

"I can get it, Dad!" He was almost at the woods, while Dad and Connor had hardly covered half the distance.

"No! You stop and _wait_!" Dean's head turned just a little bit as if to better catch the words and he seemed to hesitate – but only for a second. Then he darted in between the trees.

"Son of a bitch!" Dad's pace picked up suddenly, and Connor had to practically lunge after him.

They came to a halt a little way into the woods. They could see neither Dean, nor the shapeshifter anywhere. They tried to listen over their panting breaths but couldn't hear anything that would indicate where the hunter – the reckless, stupid-ass hunter – and his prey were.

Dad scanned the woods and started marching with Connor following wordlessly. They kept their guns trained in front of them trying to see everywhere at once, hear everything at once.

It was nearly impossible with the way alarm was flooding Connor. His little brother was alone in the woods with a supernatural creature, and Connor wanted to tear the entire forest down until he had Dean safe and sound. From Dad's tense, determined motions, Connor could see his mind was reeling the same way, and he made himself push the fear back in favor of similar determination.

They were going around a huge oak, when Connor noticed a small something on the ground and crouched down. He took a closer look, picked up a twig and poked at it, and then gazed up at Dad. "Shifter's started shedding."

"Fuck," Dad breathed out. His knuckles were white over the gun. "See if you can find-"

A gunshot exploded into the quiet air, and then two more, followed by a tumult of birds disturbed from their peaceful perch. Connor leaped to his feet. Dad's wide eyes darted around, and then he started to run and Connor followed, panic sending his feet nearly flying off the ground.

They saw him behind some tall, thin bushes and practically burst through them. Dean turned, gun in hand, and beamed at them.

"Got the sonovabitch," he said. Dad halted, gun trained on Dean.

"Drop it."

Dean gave him a somewhat baffled look, the smile still hovering over his lips. "Dad? I got the shifter."

"Drop the fucking gun," Dad's voice was ice-cold, the hand holding the gun not quivering in the slightest.

Dean stared at him, and then glanced over at the motionless body that lay face down on the ground next to him. Connor followed his gaze and his insides seemed to freeze solid.

The body was that of a slender boy with spiky blond hair.

Dean looked back at Dad. The smile was wiped from his face. He tossed the gun away from him and raised his hands, palms out.

"Down on your knees, hands behind your head," Dad waited for Dean to follow the order before jerking his head at Connor. "Test 'im."

It took a few seconds for Connor to remember the little silver knife in his back pocket. He pulled it out and went around Dean – the shifter? – to approach from behind, giving him a wide berth. His heart was beating like crazy and he could hardly think straight. Both the live boy and the dead one wore jeans and dark coats, and he couldn't, for the life of him, remember what shirt Dean was wearing that day. The amulet Sam had given Dean for Christmas three years ago was around his neck, but the shifter would have had enough time to remove it from Dean's body and put it on.

_fuck-fuck-fuck_

He reached the kneeling boy, grabbed his left wrist and swooped his sleeve up to expose his forearm. Then he put the knife to his flesh.

_Please, God, please, Jesus Christ, please, please, please, oh God_


	2. Before Tomorrow

Connor made a small cut with the knife, just enough to pierce the skin, and watched it closely. A red bud of blood swelled over the nick and trickled down. That was all.

"It's Dean," the relief was like a wave of sweet breeze filling him from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. He wanted to scream, to jump ten feet into the air, to drop unconscious, all at the same time.

Dad let the gun tumble to the ground as he rushed over to Dean, pulled him to his feet and into a hug so tight, Connor thought he might hear Dean's ribs cracking any minute. Dad held him for a long moment, eyes shut tight and mouth twitching, and then pushed him back with his hands holding Dean's arms and gave him a hard, violent shake.

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking?!" His voice was trembling. He shook Dean again.

"I… I just wanted… I got 'im," Dean's voice was trembling too, and Connor thought all that had happened within the last few minutes finally caught up to him.

"You disobeyed a direct order," Dad's voice has lost its tremble. Now it was hard, cold stone. Dean stared up at him, green eyes wide.

"I didn't mean… it was getting away-"

"You were _told_ to stop and _wait_ ," Dad let go of Dean's arms and pushed him a step back. "Was I fucking talking to myself?!"

"No, sir. I'm sorry, sir," Dean tried to pull his shoulders back, to assume a calm, military stance. But he was just a kid who had a gun pointed at him by his own father less than five minutes ago, and Connor could see how unnerved he was and stepped forward.

"Sir," he said. Dad looked at him, frowning at the interruption. Connor jerked his head at the dead shapeshifter and Dad glanced over at it. He let out a breath and rubbed a hand down his face.

"Let's get rid of that thing. Move it."

Connor dreaded the moment they flipped the shifter over; even knowing that Dean was alive and unharmed, he didn't know if he could stand seeing his brother's face on the dead body. To his immense relief, the shifter's face wasn't Dean's, not exactly. The creature must have seen Dean too briefly to copy his features properly.

Still, it was unsettlingly close, and Connor grabbed onto the shifter's legs when they hoisted it up to be carried out of the woods so he wouldn't have to look at that boyish face.

They took the body to the field at the back of the house, and Dad brought the car around. While Connor and Dean dug a shallow trench, Dad gathered wood for the fire. They set everything up in the would-be grave – Connor made sure to cover the face with a leafy branch – poured salt and gasoline over the shapeshifter, and watched the flames rise.

When the body was nothing but ash and the fire was dying down, Connor signaled to Dean, and they grabbed the shovels and started covering the trench. Dad watched until the dirt piled from the digging had filled the grave and said, "okay, enough."

Connor looked up. As much as he would have loved a break, the site wasn't nearly as well-concealed as Dad usually liked it to be.

"I'll finish up here," Dad said. He looked at Dean. "Go cut a switch. Connor, go with him."

Connor saw Dean's face paling as he uttered a "yes, sir". Connor put his shovel down and waited for Dean to do the same.

They didn’t go deep into the woods. Dean looked around for a minute or two, and then walked up to a hazel tree. He let his fingers trail on the thin branches and Connor watched him, not wanting to rush something that was hard enough as it was.

"He's really pissed at me, isn't he," Dean said quietly, fingers tracking the branch.

Connor was about to blurt out "ya think?!" and bit his tongue at the last moment; it wasn't a question anyway.

"I didn't mean to mess up this bad," Dean continued with the same quiet tone. "I wanted to get the job done. I wanted… I wanted him to be proud of me."

Connor's shirt seemed too tight around his chest all of a sudden. "He _is_ proud of you."

Dean's mouth twisted into a slight scowl. "How can he possibly be proud of a fuck up like me?"

"You're not-"

"Don't say that. I screw up all the time."

Connor moved to touch Dean's shoulder. "No, you don't."

Dean was still eyeing the tree, fingers tracing over the branch. "If I wasn't screwing up so much, I wouldn't have my ass whipped every other week, would I? It's okay, I know I deserve it, I do. I just-" he paused to take a shaky breath. "I'm trying, Connie, and it's never enough. I can't keep a lid on it, I can't pull through for Dad when he needs me to. It's not about being a good soldier anymore; I'm not even a good grunt, 'cause a good grunt can fuckin' _follow orders_ , and I can't even do that much."

"Listen to me," Connor tightened his hand on Dean's shoulder, maybe a little too much, and made the kid look at him. "You're not a fuck up, okay? No, you _listen_. Yeah, you're one goddamned mouthy, impetuous, hot-headed smartass. But you're not a fuck up. No matter how many times you say it, it's not true. You think Dad doesn't know how hard you're trying? Would he still be taking you on hunts if he didn't trust you?"

 "He's not gonna trust me after this," Dean's voice was almost a whisper. He blinked, drew a breath and broke the branch he was holding off the hazelnut tree.

Connor watched him as he meticulously stripped the branch of twigs with his knife, smoothed out the knots and cut the ends straight. He wanted to tell Dean that Dad still trusted him, but he honestly couldn't; he didn't know if he himself did. The image of the dead shifter was etched too deep into his brain to try and counter Dean's statement, at least right now.

Dean finished with the switch and held it for Connor's inspection. Connor ran his fingers over it and took the knife to smooth it out some more. It was too much to ask that Dad didn't apply the switch on the bare, but he would be damned if he'd let any stray thorns cause his little brother to bleed.

At last Connor nodded at Dean and led him back. As they came out of the woods he could see Dad had already smoothed the gravesite, and was now closing the trunk, probably after loading their gear back under the false bottom.

Dad stayed by the car and they walked over to him, but Dean halted abruptly a few feet away, and Connor looked to see what was up.

The strap was resting on top of the closed trunk.

Dean stared at it, and then at Dad. Connor sensed a tiny tug at his coat and didn't need to look down to know Dean had grabbed the hem of it; the feeling was all too familiar from years of his middle brother doing exactly that whenever they were crossing the street or walking through crowds while Connor had his hands full carrying Sammy or their bags.

Dad stepped forward and held out his hand. Dean handed him the switch, and Dad examined it, nodded, put it on the trunk and picked up the strap. "Come here, Dean."

Dean didn't move. He stared at the strap, at the switch, and then at Dad. "But I… I cut a switch, sir."

"Yes, and you'll be getting it right after you get the strap. Come here."

Dean still didn't budge. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, breaths rushing through slightly parted lips. Connor often saw Dean scared before he was about to have his ass handed to him, but, Jesus, now he looked fucking _terrified_. Connor moved forward.

"Dad, a word?" He didn't wait for an answer before turning to Dean. "Go stand over there by that bush, face the house and wait." He actually had to give his brother a little shove as Dean seemed almost paralyzed. But he did go at last, walked away about fifteen yards and stood with his back to them. Only then did Connor turn to Dad.

"What the hell, Dad?"

Dad raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You're gonna whip him with the strap _and_ the switch? What the fuck?!"

The raised eyebrow drew down along with the other one. "Watch your _tone_ , boy."

His goddamned tone was the last thing on Connor's mind, but it wouldn't do getting Dad riled up. He took a breath. "Sorry, sir. But really, don't you think it's too much?"

"Too much compared to what? To almost getting himself killed?"

"Yeah, okay, he fucked up-"

"Ain't that an understatement."

"It's not like the first time he put himself in danger, and you've never-"

"I've never had to look at a dead body I believed was his," Dad's voice was hard, but Connor could hear the tremor just underneath the stony surface. "I've never had to prepare myself to kill what I thought was a shifter wearing my son's goddamned _face_. So don't you tell me it's the same, Connor. Don't you _fuckin'_ tell me that."

Connor couldn't tell him that. Because no amount of pain inflicted upon Dean would make him understand the pain Dad was going through. Not even close.

Yet Connor couldn't let Dad do it. Not with how terrified Dean looked. Not with how he had held on to Connor's coat like a five-year-old.

"Okay," he said at last. "Okay. But can you maybe… how many were you going to give him with the switch?"

"Twenty."

Fuck, the kid wouldn't have any skin left on his rump. "Can you maybe reduce that? I get you're gonna roast his ass bad with the strap, the switch is just the icing on top. Five ought to do it."

"No way in hell he's getting five."

"Six? It would still hurt like a bitch."

"Are you fucking kiddin' me?"

"Dad, come on. He knows he fucked up, he's already beating himself up over it. Even seven would be over the top."

"It's not over the top, he's not a little kid."

"Not a little kid, but he's not even sixteen yet. Eight, Dad, please."

"What is this, a bazaar?" Dad huffed a breath and rubbed a hand down his face. "Ten. Not one less. Now get his ass over the damned trunk."

Connor walked over to Dean, who looked up at him. "Sorry, buddy. I tried, I did, but he's determined to give you the switch as well as the strap. I got him from the twenty he was gonna give you down to ten, but that's it. "

Dean tightened his lips and closed his eyes briefly, took a breath, opened them and nodded. Connor nodded back and put a hand on Dean's shoulder as he walked him to the car. He stepped back as Dean unbuckled his belt, undid his jeans and pushed them down along with his boxers. He bent over, laid his upper body flat on the trunk, and pulled the tails of his coat and flannel up and out of the way. Then he folded his arms in front of him and buried his face in them.

Dad took a few seconds to adjust his hold on the strap. He positioned himself behind Dean and slightly to his left and touched the leather briefly to Dean's thigh. Then he reared his arm back and landed the strap.

Dean winced whenever the strap came down, but at first the only sounds were the loud slapping noises the leather produced upon striking Dean's naked flesh. Connor realized he was wincing along with his brother, but he didn't give a fuck; Dad wasn't looking at him, anyway.

Dad moved the strap methodically to cover Dean's ass with overlapping, well-placed swats, laid the lowest one on the tops of his thighs, and started over. By the third time Dad was repeating the pattern, Connor could already hear Dean's strangled groans. He hoped Dad would lighten the whipping, just a little bit, considering he was planning to add a switching on top of it.

No such luck. The strap landed again and again, making Dean's body flinch, painting the skin of his ass darker red. Connor looked at Dad's face, at the hard-set jaw, at the drawn brows, and clenched his fists hard enough for his short nails to dig into his palms. And then Dad stopped.

He stood there for a minute, the strap still in his hand. Connor looked at Dean; the kid was trembling, his back heaving with laborious, hitched breaths. Connor returned his gaze to Dad, silently begging him to reconsider the switch.

Dad didn't even spare him a glance. He stepped forward, laid the strap on the trunk and picked up the switch. Dean turned his head upon hearing the rustles of Dad's movement, then hid his face again.

"You have ten with the switch coming. Break position and I'll start over, Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," the reply was somewhat muffled, but audible. Dean knew better than to make Dad prompt him with an extra lash.

Dad took position behind Dean again. He held the switch out as if considering the angle, touched it to Dean's thigh as he did before with the strap, and then raised it and brought it swishing down through the air.

Dean practically jolted when it hit, his cry of pain only partly smothered. Connor held his breath, fearing Dad wouldn't count this one; but Dean didn't really break position, and Dad said nothing, just raised the switch and struck Dean's crimson ass again. Dean's wail was better hushed this time, but his body cringed harder. If he didn't have his feet firmly on the ground, he would have been kicking them hard enough to send his boots flying off.

Dad landed the switch five more times and Dean flinched sharply with each one, his arms hugging his head as if he was trying to burrow into the black metal of the trunk. His back was arching, and Connor took a step closer to him. The eighth lash made Dean's back arch further, and it might have taken him off the trunk entirely, but Connor was already there, putting his hand on his brother's back.

"The hell are you doing? Get outta the way," Dad's voice was sharp, impatient.

"Give me a sec," Connor leaned his head near Dean's. The kid's breaths were coming in shaky, agonized whimpers.

"Just two more, Dean," he said quietly. "You can do it, buddy, c'mon."

Dean shook his head without raising it from where it was buried in his arms. Connor rubbed his back.

"Yes, you can. Just two more and you're done," Dean took a deeper breath and settled down. "That's my boy. Don't break position." Connor straightened up, but kept a hand on Dean's back, between the shoulder blades. He looked at Dad. "Get it over with."

"Step away from him, Connor."

Connor stayed put. "Just fucking get it over with."

Dad studied him for a minute and then looked at Dean and reared his arm back. When the switch landed, Connor could feel Dean almost lifting off the trunk and held him down; it didn't require too much force, just a little pressure to keep Dean grounded through the pain.

He pressed his hand down further even before the last stroke came, and when it did Dean's body lurched into his hold. Connor threw a glance at Dad, making sure the old man wasn't even remotely considering starting over, and leaned toward Dean.

"It's over, buddy. It's over, it's done," he rubbed Dean's back and listened to his quiet, exhausted sobs. He could absently hear a light snapping sound, a rustle of vegetation, and then Dad was by Dean's other side.

"I'll take it from here," he said, and Connor made himself step back. He watched as Dad stroked Dean's head, and Dean moved, inching toward him.

Dad slid his left arm between Dean's body and the trunk, lifted him up and leaned him against his chest. Dean latched on at once, and Dad wrapped his arms around him as Dean pressed his face into him. Dad lowered his head a little, touching his cheek to Dean's head.

"I won't lose you, Dean. I won't, you hear me? I won't ever lose you, son," Connor could barely hear those murmured words, but he knew Dean did. He knew Dean felt them, in Dad's touch, in Dad's tone, and his throat seemed to clog up.

At long last Dean pulled back. Dad kept one hand on his back while he used the other to lift Dean's face up.

"You scared the living shit outta me, Dean," but Dad's voice had lost its fury. His fingers moved over Dean's flushed, wet cheeks and through his short hair.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," Dean was still sniffling, hands fisted in Dad's shirt.

Dad moved his hand up to the back of Dean's neck, tugged him gently forward and kissed his forehead. When he let go, so did Dean. Dad turned his eyes to Connor.

"We've been long enough. Let's roll."

While Dad went around the car, Dean bent down and grabbed the waistband of his jeans, about to pull them up.

"Wait," Connor came to his side and Dean glanced up. "Let me see the damage."

"I'm fine," Dean started straightening up, but Connor put his hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Let me see it, Dean."

Dean huffed, but let go of the pants, turned to the trunk again and leaned over it on his forearms. Connor pushed the hems of his coat and shirt up and squinted at his backside.

The kid was going to be bruised to hell; the flesh was already taking on a darker tone, and the raised welts the switch left were purple. But the skin didn't break, there was no bleeding, so Connor was satisfied for now. He would apply some A&D ointment to it when they got back to the motel room, but it was more for his own peace of mind; Dean had rarely asked for it.

"Have an eyeful?" Dean was peeking at him over his shoulder. Connor resisted swatting his welted ass.

"Yeah. Not a pretty sight. Get your pants up."

He was surprised Dad hadn't climbed into the car yet, and even more surprised when Dad tossed him the keys.

"You drive," Dad didn't wait for an answer as he climbed into the back seat. Connor raised his eyebrows but said nothing and slid into the driver's seat.

He glanced over as Dean opened the back door opposite of Dad's and peered in, clearly uncertain as to what was going on. Dad motioned him, and Dean tried to maneuver himself inside. Connor tracked his brother's movements with some concern, but Dad wasn't going to let him flounder.

"C'mere, lie down. There you go," Connor heard the rustling of fabric against the Impala leather upholstery while he looked down at the key he was sliding into the ignition to start the car.

When he looked up into the rear-view mirror, Dean was lying face down with his torso draped over Dad's lap, his cheek resting on Dad's thigh. He had to bend his legs to fit into the bench so his toes were propped up against the window, but he seemed comfortable as he lay there, eyes closed, Dad's fingers raking through his hair.

Connor couldn't take his eyes off that picture of Dean's face so peaceful and Dad's so calm and smooth. He didn't even realize he was staring until Dad stared back.

"You do remember how to drive, don't you, Connor?"

"Yes, sir," he dropped the shift in gear and eased the car around the house and back onto the dirt trail. He needed to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn't resist another glance through the mirror. Dad's eyes were on Dean again, fingers slowly stroking his hair, face soft as if he was watching his newborn child in his sleep.

Connor didn't fool himself that this would last, that Dad would so patiently cuddle Dean, that Dean would so quietly let him. There would be conflict between them, and anger and tears and a long, arduous road ahead. But Connor didn't want to think about all this for now. For now, all he wanted was to sail the Impala over the asphalt with his father and his little brother there in the back seat, comfortable and safe and serene.

Yes, he would take that for now. Anything else could wait for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my works? Want to subscribe and get updates on new stories? Make sure you subscribe to the **user** and not the specific work!


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